Well first of all, welcome to Blog Post Number 100. Yay!!! I’ve hit the ton. 100 not out etc.

Right, I’ve got that out of my system so on with this week’s entry.

We had the most delightful and fun evening at our local church last Friday. I know that a lot of people don’t associate church with fun and delight but believe me it was. And besides, some of you could do a lot worse than to get your ass to church of a Sunday, but I digress.

The delightful evening I refer to was an evening of poetry called Poems and Puds, which basically did what it said on the tin. It was a time of reading poetry and eating puddings. I ask you, what’s not to like about that?

There were no “professional” poets there, if there is such a thing, just a lot of enthusiasts who got together over apple pie and custard and raspberry pavlova (drool) to read either their favourite poems or ones they had written themselves. And there where quite a few self-written entries.

But I know what your mind is thinking. Did you read out a poem Stevenson?

Actually I did!

My wife (the adorable Ange) is quite the fan of poetry and likes to dabble herself. She attends a poetry group here in Settle and meets regularly with one of our neighbours (Liz) to write and discuss their own work.

So when this event was announced Ange was eager to go. The thing is that on the evening in question we were looking after our daughter’s Labrador (Noel) and so I reckoned I’d be stationed here at Blessham Hall to manage the beast.

That turned out to not be the case. I asked the vicar (Julie) if Noel could come along as well and she said that dogs were more than welcome in the church.

Win win! I was in.

The thing is, you see, that on the Thursday evening I wrote a poem. I had intended for Ange to read it on my behalf but thanks to the vicar’s progressive views on canines I had the opportunity to read it myself.

I’m not a natural poet, although I find it easy to rhyme things. The problem is that whenever I do write poetry it tends to be of the comical kind and turns out to be more Dr Seuss than Alfred Lord Tennyson. And this one was no exception.

I was inspired to write it by a sign on the toilet door at Victoria Hall. The sign said “Gentlemen” and something inside my head went ‘It’ll have to do!’ Not considering myself to be a gentleman.

And it stuck with me all afternoon until I began to put it into verse in my head.

We were paid a visit by our utterly smashing granddaughter (Erin) and went for a nice meal in the Golden Lion (can heartily recommend the fish and chips) and then gave her a lift home to Bingley. It was whilst on the journey that I actually took my phone out, open the notebook app and began to type my thoughts in. By the time we had got back home I had a fully formed poem on my hands. I hasten to add that Ange was driving.

Well, Friday evening soon arrived and after about an hour and a half it came to my turn to read.

Bloody hell, I was shaking like a wet gun dog as I mounted the small stage, praying that I could get a phone signal in the building. Thankfully I could and I opened my little poem and began to speak into the microphone.

I cracked a couple of jokes to break the ice (not that there really was any; good atmosphere actually) and then I cleared my throat and, with a trembling voice, read my hastily car-written opus.

And to my huge relief, when I’d finished I received a very warm round of applause and several nice compliments on it, including one from the vicar herself. Phew! I’d done it. I returned to my seat with a beaming smile on my face.

But what you’re all wondering now is – what was the poem like?

Well, as a special treat for you, here it is in all its glory. Ladies and Gentlemen, I proudly present to you…

Gentleman by Alan Stevenson (58 and a quarter)

The sign on the door said Gentlemen

But I was desperate, for the loo

You see I’m not a toff or squire

My blood is red, not blue

That sign it made me start to think

About my lack of airs and grace

I’m not a gent like a Lord or Earl

I’m firmly in my place

I never wear an expensive suit

Don’t own a black bow tie

And I don’t have a monocle

Gleaming in my eye

Don’t have a silk top hat

Or even a jaunty bowler

I drive a battered old Renault

I can’t afford a Roller

Not married to a Duchess

Not wed to a Queen

Well, she is one in my eyes

If you know what I mean?

Don’t live in a mansion

Don’t live in a manor

No posh education

I’m a bit of a spanner

No social climbing

And no fancy etiquette

And I’ve not got bags of money

Just great big bags of debt

I’m not well turned out

And not that well spoken

Don’t have a Rolex watch

My cheap Casio is broken

Don’t eat in high end restaurants

Never have tried caviar

I’d rather have lasagne

That I’ve ordered from the bar

Don’t have a smoking jacket

Don’t play no country sports

I think I would look daft in tweeds

I prefer T shirt and shorts

Don’t know how to play polo

Can’t even ride a horse

My language it ain’t dainty

In fact, it’s sometimes coarse

But, I actually quite like myself

D’you know what, I really do

I’m generous and I’m kind to others

And my words are honest and true

I like to help my neighbours

I’m a good and faithful friend

Love for my fellow man

Well of that I have no end

I’ll open the door for a lady

And chat to a perfect stranger

I’ll give to those who are in need

Help those who are in danger

I don’t judge folks by religion

Or the colour of their skin

If you need a shoulder to cry on

Then brother, I’m always in

I like to have a pint with pals

And spin a good yarn or two

I’m a friend to everyone

Not just the chosen few

I do my best to be my best

A diamond in the rough

My family they all love me

And that’s more than enough

So when my time is over

That day I know not when

I hope people will say I was

One of nature’s gentlemen

The End

So what do you reckon to that then? Not bad for saying I wrote it on my phone in a moving vehicle in the space of an hour or so. I don’t know about you but I’m rather quite chuffed with it and, despite the jitters on the night, I did enjoy reading it.

Where could this lead to? Who knows? I don’t get the poetic muse very often so don’t expect an anthology any time soon. I’m more about prose than poetry. But from time to time I will pop up with the occasional ditty and I hope you will enjoy them.